Into the Fire
by Cheeky-Chops
Summary: Short idea of Mark and Lexie based on the two seconds of screen time they have together in the What If episode; 8x13 If/Then. AU If/Then Slexie.


It was a deadbeat kind of place; dark and dingy alleyways kind of deadbeat. Homeless people slumped beside dumpsters kind of deadbeat. He couldn't even remember why he was there. Walking to his car in his brand-name suit, he quickened his pace. He didn't belong here. Approaching his Benz parked on the side of the street he hurries to unlock the door- hell-bent on not spending a second longer in this messed-up part of town. He sits, shuts- and locks- his doors, for safe measure, and that's when it happens. A frail, stumbling body crashes into the bonnet of his car. His first instinct is outrage- this was an expensive car, and some junkie had just fallen on it, their fists landing on the expensive paint job with a thud. It's when the stranger's feet tumble out from under them, and the person collapses against his vehicle, that's when he moves and his instincts as a doctor kick in.

Cutting the engine, he rushes around to the other side of the car, kneeling beside the crumpled body resting against the passenger door, between car and pavement. He places a tentative hand on the stranger- a young woman's- shoulder.

"Hey, are you okay there?" he asks clearly, looking for signs of injury.

The woman grumbles unintelligibly, clutching at her chest and curling further into herself. He sees streaks of red in dreadlocked hair, and tattoos covering cold arms. A lip ring shining under the streetlights. A frail hand reaches up to clutch at his shirt as the stranger whimpers. His eyebrows furrow as he attempts to check for vital signs, or any indication that could tell him what was wrong with this stranger. It's then that he sees the blood, streaming from a cut on her forehead, blood and mucus sputtering from her lips as she coughs heavily.

Grumbling softly, the girl's lost, scared, and confused eyes meet his, filled with tears. "Help me," the tiniest of voices escape her as she clutches to him desperately.

He does the first thing that comes naturally, lifting the woman easily into his arms and clumsily depositing her into the passenger seat, clicking the seatbelt around her and rushing back around to slam the car into drive and hurtle off towards the nearest hospital. He'd thought he'd end up at Seattle Grace Mercy West at some point while visiting the city- but definitely not like this.

The ambulance bay was empty, thankfully, as the Benz screeched to a stop upon the damp pavement. Hefting the girl back into his arms, Mark strode determinedly into a decidedly quiet Emergency Room, calling for help.

"She was just lying in the street- I nearly ran her over. You need to help me," he called out to scurrying nurses and doctors, panting slightly with the adrenaline- something he hadn't experienced had a chance to experience in quite a while in his cushy private plastic surgery practice.

Directed to the nearest bed, he deposited the noticeably pale woman onto the gurney, rolling up his sleeves to assist in CPR. Getting a glance at his now blood-stained shirt as he pumped the girl's chest, he briefly noted the waste of a good new shirt, all thanks to some junkie.

His eyes scan the vital monitor, slipping easily into the rush of trauma, even in his years since his surgical residency. He works with the doctors as they administer medication, shock the girl's chest, and yell orders at subordinates.

"Sinus tach; we got her," he analyses at the monitor with a confident nod, stepping back from the gurney as the surgeons rush the brunette off to surgery.

He breathes a short sigh as he rolls his sleeves back down and he turns to face a nurse, now free and dealing with the mess left behind from the stranger he'd just encountered.

"You know where I could find Doctor Shepherd?" he inquires casually as he buttons the sleeves of his new, stained shirt.

"Which one?" the apathetic nurse replies, eyes trained on the paperwork in front of them.

Running a hand through his hair, Mark Sloan descends the stairs on the ground floor of Seattle Grace Mercy West hours later, his face looking even more haggard than it did earlier in the evening. It had been a terrible idea to come here. To this city where it rains all the time and everyone is miserable and the woman who he thought was the love of his life is carrying his child but wants nothing to do with him. He doesn't know why he ever came to Seattle.

While his thoughts are elsewhere, the young resident who'd taken over with the junkie he'd brought in earlier stumbles into him as Mark makes his way through the corridor leading back to his car.

"Hey! That girl you brought in made it through surgery. She's in a room down the hall if you want to see her?"the kid offered, balancing charts in both arms as he pointed with his head in the opposite direction.

Mark's head immediately shook and his eyes found the floor.

"No, I—I don't even know her. I'm sure she'll be fine," he declined, giving the boy a polite smile. The resident nods, returning the smile before rushing off again down the hall.

Curiously, Mark watches the kid go before turning and pacing down the other end of the hallway, eventually finding the glass-walled room in the ICU where the pale girl with tattoos and red dreadlocked hair lays, her face peaceful with sleep.

Mark stands in the doorway momentarily, paused in thought, his hands in his pockets, before slowly making his way over to the chair by the side of the girl's bed.

He watched the stranger with soft eyes, finally leaning back in the chair and leaning on the arm rest, his chin resting against his fist as he settled in. His eyes roamed the girl he barely knew, her ink-marked skin, eccentric hair, stained fingers and multiple piercings. How was it that one could be so intriguing while asleep? There was something about her that he longed to know more about. Why, he couldn't work out. The two of them were seemingly from two completely different worlds, and had nothing whatsoever in common.

Checking the time on the stat monitor by the bed, he settled into the completely uncomfortable chair for the night. The one thing he was almost certain of, was that this girl had nobody looking for her. And Mark, well, for a lot of his life Mark knew what that was life. Nobody should ever feel like that.

Even if this kid was some tatted up, high as a kite junkie- everybody deserved to have somebody looking out for them.

And what else did Mark Sloan have going for him in Seattle tonight, anyway?


End file.
